“Lee Carson rolled four jeeps in a week,” she said to him weakly, trying to smile over her sore ribs.

“I don’t give a shit about Lee Carson,” he said. He stepped closer to the bed, furious in a way she’d never seen before.

What had happened to them? Jess almost wished they’d never danced together but at the same time she wished they’d danced for longer, anything to relax the strain that seemed ever present between them now. And she vowed then that she would never ask him about what had happened in the ballroom because it had only made things awkward.

Before she could reply, Lee Carson herself, along with Martha, appeared.

“They told me to tell you they’re running out of jeeps,” Marty said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Which is more your fault than mine,” Jess said lightly to Lee, who grinned.

Dan didn’t smile. Instead he gave everyone a curt goodbye and left, after practically yelling at Jess to be more careful.

“What’s up with the gorgeous Lieutenant Colonel?” Lee drawled, helping herself to Jess’s cigarettes.

“I don’t know,” Jess replied honestly.

By the time Jess was out of hospital, Cologne was secured, and then the Rhine was crossed. After that it was impossible for anyone to enforce the rule of women not going near the front because the front was everywhere. Nobody cared anymore about Martha’s lack of accreditation papers; the quality of her reporting for Collier’s, in spite of the impediments, was all the proof anyone needed. In fact, the women correspondents were encouraged to use the press camps for the first time ever because it was the only way to stay safe. Which meant Jess having to use all her skills to avoid Warren Stone. She was getting better at that though, and he was so busy actually working that he left her alone more often than not.

At the press camp in Schweinfurt, news came in that President Roosevelt was dead. Following in its wake, GIs poured in, wanting to find out if the reports were accurate, wanting just to sit and talk.

Jess walked out of the censor’s office after a particularly bruising fight with Warren about whether there really were camps all over Germany holding people the Nazis considered undesirable—of course Warren found her belief in the rumors laughable—and saw Dan standing a few feet away. It was the first time she’d seen him this close since the hospital, and he smiled at her. She walked over to say hello, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around him.

“So it’s true,” he said when he saw her face.

She nodded. “Come and sit down. I’ll find some schnapps.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“We drink whatever’s available. Calvados in Normandy, champagne in Paris, schnapps in Germany. It’s the only thing I miss about Paris.”

Dan laughed and suddenly it felt normal again: Jess and Dan sharing a drink and a joke the way they’d always done. Thank God! She knew her smile was too bright for a day of mourning but she was so relieved to have restored her friendship with Dan that she couldn’t wipe it away. She led Dan into the mess, where she saw soldiers and correspondents all doing the same thing, drinking and talking, the death of one man like a blow that almost could not be borne.